NEITHER AFTERSHAVE NOR BODY SPRAY

A woman of Philippine ancestry who I knew years ago believed that after every time I visited the doorknobs stank of Latakia, and once after I had used the phone proceeded to scrub it to remove the odour. Her apartment mate, of Chinese ancestry, opined that Caucasians -- which was a well known fact -- whiffed a bit. But didn't mind the Latakia scent, as she herself smoked a pipe, and favoured Drucquers 805, a blend now long gone.
It was rich with Latakia.

The idea that white people stink is more Philipine illustrado and Japanese than commonly held among East Asians, and sometimes a strange sign of refinement. My apartment mate, also ethnically Chinese, tends to not be aware of our smell. But has vociferated furiously about a reek of dried fish she has encountered among the Filippino ladies who mob certain clothing stores downtown. Which is probably just a trace whisp of bagoong, often used to give their cooking a characteristic saveur.

Female fastidiousness takes different forms. White women, as is well known, will faint at the merest suspicion that someone is smoking nearby. Such as I frequently am.

Kaywoodie Flame Grain, drawn January 12, 2012.

These days I favour Virginia tobacco or Virginia and Perique blends almost exclusively. A woman visiting where I work the other day commented that the place smelled nice. Such a refreshing change from her significant other's cigars. I did not say anything, but smiled internally. And I have to point out that two years ago when the nurse at the clinic was asking questions to fill out my case file she had to ask if I smoked, because either she assumed that men most men did had an incense-like perfume in consequence, or she may have thought that most WHITE men didn't any longer. She seemed surprised at the information that I smoked a pipe, and mimed in wonderment the characteristic shape and body posture of an old peasant huffing a Chinese waterpipe. She had never seen a typical briar. All the data I provided surprised her, and she's still not certain that cigarettes aren't my preferred poison.


Today I do not stink. I'm washed, shaved, got clean clothes on. And have nowhere to go. There may be a faint hint of my evil habit about me, but I do not smell of dried fish, bagoong, or curry, and unless you saw the pipe you would not suspect my depravities.
My hands have a lingering scent of ginger.

You would have to look real close to spot the pipe. Seeing as it's not a large bamboo culm bong for smoking rough shreds. Instead, a rather elegant number acquired from the aforementioned Chinese woman who liked 805. It's one of my favourite pieces.


Kaywoodies are not known for quality nowadays. But in the period from the war to the mid-fifties, they were well regarded and their higher ranges were often considered the equals of Dunhills, Sasienis, and Comoys. They were products that set the standard.
There are quite a few of them of which I am very fond.
Good smokers, regularly in the rotation.



Yeah, I'm probably going to have curry with some bagoong in it later today. Might even have some dried fish. But I'll disguise myself with more ginger, strong tea, and Virginia.
Unless you're a white woman, you won't notice.

TOBACCO INDEX


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